Before the Laughs
by jauntyjester13
Summary: A look into the beginnings of two of Gotham's most gruesome and underestimated criminals.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Reviews, positive or negative, will be greatly appreciated!

Chapter One

Monday; the day Dr. Jonathan Crane abhorred most. Monday to Dr. Crane meant putting a stopper in his personal experimental research and putting on the dreary façade of a highly-regarded psychiatrist caught in the monotonous shuffle of a common work day. Above all, he dreaded having to restrain himself from showing his pleasure in his patient's nervous breakdowns rather than their recoveries; a task most draining. Yet this particular Monday was different. Due to the new round of interns starting, naturally many of his most loathsome colleagues had decided to take "personal time" and use excuses of illness to avoid the annoyance. Dr. Crane enjoyed that this thinned the crowd outside of the building; no eyes examined him as he strolled up the winding walkway, no mindless chatter cluttered his concentration. He felt a tinge of serenity as he listened to the pebbles scattering beneath his feet, the deadened leaves rustling in the wind, and the crows cawing from the wires above. As he climbed the grey stone steps of Arkham Asylum he took a deep breath, admiring the heavy fog and grey sky of the early morning. This weather always seemed to lighten his mood; he felt that this type of weather lowered "normal" people's mental dispositions and moods, and he relished the thought of cheerful idiots being brought down to his level and to feel the ache of boredom and apathy, even if just for one day. He approached the security booth, slipped his hand inside the breast pocket of his jacket for his pass card, and slid it under the glass window.

"Mornin' Doctor Crane." mumbled the guard in his subtle southern drawl.

"Good Morning Cash, you're looking rather down today." said Crane with a cool smirk. His voice was smooth and his speech was extremely articulate.

"I've had better mornings. The day ain't even started yet and we've already had three brawls in the main cell block at the penitentiary" complained Aaron Cash

"Ah, well, nothing like a little bloodshed to brighten the day." Crane said sarcastically to hide his amusement, "Terrible weather isn't it?"

"It sure doesn't help. You enjoy those interns Crane; they look like they ain't gonna be much help either!"

"Oh, I'm sure I will." he muttered to himself, wearing the same cool smirk as he pushed open the heavy double wooden doors and entered the Asylum.

As he made his way down the dilapidated main corridor of the Medical Facility his improved mood was cut short by the unwelcoming sight of Joan Leland lecturing to the sad new faces; apparently the most loathsome of them all decided her presence was too important to be missed. This meant that his usual hobby of seeing whom he can push to the limit and how to do it (he was quite fascinated with the limits of the mind) would be impossible. What could he possibly achieve with the prying, watchful eyes of Joan Leland working alongside him? He shuddered at the thought, and therefore he no longer had any interest in the shabby looking beings standing in front of him. As he attempted to avoid the attention of the group he felt the pang of irritation as Leland's voice reached his ears, filling minds with useless drivel. "…it is essential to abstain from divulging any personal information to patients, as well as establishing any kind of relationship other than professional…" she persisted in her thick accent, the echo carrying it throughout the entire corridor now. Crane quickened his pace, staring at the doors ahead determined to avoid eye contact with anyone; this was challenged by his desire to roll his eyes at the nonsense that was being preached.

"…safety is a priority for all persons in this building at any given time. Let it be known that any mistreatment of a patient shall not be tolerat-Jonathan! There you are! It's about time, I thought maybe you had taken the day off. Where have you been? It's not a flattering habit to be coming to work late, you know? I think you should introduce yourself to our new pupils."

He came to a halt; his stomach lurched at the audacious patronization from someone he considered incompetent. He turned to face her, his voice shaking with the difficulty of restraint as he said, "I prefer Dr. Crane, Dr. Leland. I'm sure you of all people can appreciate the value of professionalism? Or do your new pupils need to remind you of what you said not 20 seconds ago?" his voice now calm and uncomfortably monotone, "Either way I don't see how it is any of your concern."

"Perhaps not. But may I ask what it is you mean by my pupil's? You do realize we are inconveniently understaffed today?" She spoke with the inflection of a nagging school teacher. He winced at her incapability to grasp his meaning and drew a deep breath as he said "Well, certainly that is none of my concern." He said as the right corner of his mouth curled in disgust, "And you are aware of the fact that we are here to conduct research that needs to be attended to? Now if you'll excuse me, I intend to do just that."

He turned again without giving Dr. Leland a chance to say anything more, walking even more quickly fueled by the agitation from her ignorance. His blood boiled at the notion of someone so conforming and naive doubting his ethic. As he went for the door he knocked into the shoulder of a young blonde intern with nearly enough force to remove her glasses. She scoffed indignantly at his rudeness, yet he paid no mind. The encounter had left him with an unyielding need to focus on his personal work.

But first he needed something from his office…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The doors slammed shut as she straightened her glasses and regained her composure, focusing her attention on Dr. Leland. She had a knack for making the worst of a situation, but this job was important to her, she couldn't mess it up.

"As I was saying, the mistreatment of any patient will not be tolerated. Immediate termination will be the only consequence in any instance, if not legal ramifications as well. I must warn you once again to not form any kinds of personal relationships with patients; the subjects committed to this institution are criminally insane. Many have committed unspeakable crimes that lead to their confinement; they are _murderers. _They can be manipulative and clever in swaying one's opinions; they may try to make you believe they have no reason to be here at all or that they are the ones in control…" Dr. Leland's words started to trail as the young blonde intern's focus drifted.

"They may be sick. And they may have done some terrible things, sure… but they're still people!" she thought to herself, struggling to keep her attention on the lecture; she wanted to make a good impression.

"…we are here to find out _why_ these things happen, as I'm sure you all know. Should you be physically harmed by one of your patient's, as it is not an uncommon occurrence, the medical station for staff members is on the 3rd floor in the East Wing. The patient will then be removed from your care and placed with another doctor. Should a patient breakout of confinement and you are in the vicinity, you are to alert the nearest senior staff members, security personnel or the Warden _immediately._ Now if you will all hold your questions until I finish calling your names and passing out your ID Badges, you will proceed to form into your proper groups and your respective supervisors can answer them."

The blonde's focus was lost again as Dr. Leland started calling out the roster. She looked around at the solid stone walls, all of the heavy iron doors with heavy locks, the security panels and cameras in every corner. She couldn't help but think to herself, "how's it even possible to get out of this place?" There was no possible way; every door was so heavily guarded she didn't think someone could even get within 100 yards of an escape. Her mind wandered further and further as the names were called, wondering what kind of situations could arise where she could potentially be harmed, as Joan had warned so fervently. She was filled with an unexplainable excitement as she imagined all of the fascinating and nearly brilliant patients she could be working with. She then began to notice her fellow interns; there were six surgical interns, four to work in the morgue, and the six psychiatry interns, including her. She straightened her posture as she examined her peers from the corners of her eyes; all of them were so plain and stuffy, so _normal_. She felt confident that she would surely have more to offer than the rest, and surely no one shared her fascination…

"Nygren. O'Connor. Parson. Quinzel. Quinzel? HARLEEN QUINZEL?"

Harley shook as she heard her name. It took her a minute to realize that she had to move, and she stumbled as she started walking forward to receive her ID. She had gotten so lost in judging what she viewed as competition that she had made a fool of herself already.

"You won't last the week here if you don't learn to pay attention Ms. Quinzel." Dr. Leland said with a hint of disgust.

"I'm sorry Doctor; I can assure you it won't happen again. I think I was just a bit overwhelm-"

"Overwhelmed?" Dr. Leland interjected a bit maliciously, "My dear girl, if _attendance_ is too much for you to handle I suggest you leave now before you make a mess of things or get yourself killed."

Harley's temperature rose and she felt her color change. She was so desperate for the approval of important, influential people, but she had already ruined it with one of the most important Doctor's on the Island.

"No of course not, I just didn't hear you. I'm a fast learner, really!" She cringed at the collective chuckle that arose from the group behind her. Nothing incited her temper more than being thought of as an idiot, but she would not let herself do anything irrational.

"I'm sure." snarled Leland, as she turned and walked away. Three doctors that had been standing on the sidelines gathered their groups as Harley returned to hers, humiliated. A petite woman with red hair in a loose bun stood in front of them waiting for silence. When the murmur began to die she greeted them, "Welcome to Arkham Asylum ladies and gentleman! My name is Dr. Sarah Cassidy and I will be giving you a tour of the facility today as well as getting you acquainted with our procedures. I just ask that you listen carefully, and stay close to the group."

As Dr. Cassidy spoke, Harley couldn't resist the impulse to stand out and try to redeem herself; she nonchalantly made herself front and center of the group and made sure she listened to every word. Dr. Cassidy explained that they would be heading to the Sanatorium for their orientation. Harley made sure to stay close to her as they started walking. As they entered the next room and made their way through the transfer loop Dr. Cassidy turned to Harley, and with a motherly tone said "You'll have to excuse Dr. Leland, this place can be very stressful at times, and that has the power to turn anyone a bit cynical and bitter. But there are a lot of doctors here that are a bit uptight, you just have to make sure you stay on your toes and you should do just fine."

Harley was relieved though she tried to hide it; she merely gave a subtle smile as her head lowered in embarrassment. They came to a large steel door guarded by a lanky, weak looking guard. Harley thought it was a bit odd that this was their idea of security, but didn't pay it too much attention.

"Got to' check everyone's ID m'am" he said, staring blankly at Dr. Cassidy.

She nodded as she handed him her badge, and Harley did the same. As he moved down the line, Harley was compelled to inquire about the dark haired, awkward doctor that had been so rude.

"Doctor Cassidy, what is it that Dr. Crane does? If that's ok to ask."

Dr. Cassidy's eyebrows tensed slightly, but she replied with the same kind tone, "He's a psychiatrist, but he specializes in phobias and anxiety. He's been here quite awhile; I believe he started with a degree in Psychopharmacology; working in the labs, experimenting with medications and anesthetics and God knows what else…" She gave a small roll of the eyes, "…but since getting his Ph. D he's gained a considerable amount of ground in his field; he was just published in _Gotham Gazette_ for his study on the various effects of different types of hallucinogens. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, I just thought he must be someone important. He sure seemed like he was in a rush this morning." Harley said calmly. A light coming from the camera perched on the wall scanned the group, and the door slid open. They continued to walk and Dr. Cassidy spoke again.

"Yes, he is very serious about his work; comes off as a bit arrogant. Bit of an odd-ball I always thought, really keeps to himself. But anyway, you probably won't be working with him too much, no need to worry."

The door slammed shut with a bang, which echoed in the cold, bare room. As they passed through, Harley took in the new surroundings; the only items that decorated the walls were cameras, monitors, speakers and steel. It was rather poorly lit, and there was a cold draft. The floor consisted of metal grates that amplified the shuffling footsteps. Once again, there was only one guard in the room. "No wonder no one smiles in this place" she thought to herself. Just as they reached the middle of the room, a computerized female voice came through the speakers, "Warning. Dangerous patient in transit to penitentiary. Please follow official protocol." The recording repeated as Dr. Cassidy ushered the group to the side of the room.

When the door ahead opened, Harley heard a gasp from behind her. It was Dr. Cassidy, "Oh God no" she whispered, and Harley noticed the look of shock on her face. When she turned to look at the source of the shock, she was taken aback by the sight.

A short, bony man with very few straggly blonde hairs dangling in his face stood in shackles in the doorway. His face was badly bruised and there were bags beneath his eyes. He was shirtless, but more than that his body was covered in dark, tally mark scars. There was a cold, empty look in his eyes, yet as they locked on Dr. Cassidy they came to life. In less than a second the man threw himself at the oblivious guard; he put his fists together and smashed the guard's face into the steel wall, leaving him unconscious. Dr. Cassidy let out a scream of sheer terror as she ran for the alarm, shattering the glass with her fist. As she pulled the lever, red lights started flashing, almost blinding Harley at first, and an obnoxious siren filled the room; then the man lunged towards her. The scene moved quickly, and in another second he was on top of her with the chain of his shackles around her neck. The group of interns let out a collective cry as they huddled in the corner, hiding their faces from the scene. Harley couldn't move, and she couldn't take her eyes away from what was happening.

She heard Dr. Cassidy, struggling for breath, plead "Zsasz, n-no- please don't…" to which he coldly replied with his face suspended inches from hers "I always get my mark Sarah, _always_."

And with that last word he pulled the chain with brute strength and animalistic enthusiasm. Blood spewed onto the walls, and Harley watched as Dr. Cassidy's neck snapped; she lie there, the eyes that had been so kind in their consolation only moments ago were now staring blankly at the ceiling, her blood slowly seeping through the floor grates. As the doors burst open, several guards and doctors flooded the room; Harley watched Zsasz plunge a shard of glass from the emergency alarm case into his chest, adding a fifth mark to one of his tally's. An air of satisfaction radiated from him as he was tackled to the ground by three large guards. One of the doctors rushed to the group of interns and started pushing them towards the door. Harley felt as if she were frozen; she was speechless. The doctor grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her towards the door as she said "it's alright sweetie, this way". What Harley didn't understand was that what she felt was not shock nor trauma; it was exhilaration


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The elevator jerked upward as it reached the fourth floor. As the doors opened, Dr. Crane stepped out into a dimly lit hallway with cherry oak paneling and hideous green carpeting. He hurried down the hall, noticing that the secretary supposed to be sitting at the desk to the left was not there. Normally he would take the time to find and berate the slag, but today it worked in his favor. He reached the door to his office and looked around him to make sure no one would see him enter, but there were nothing but desks and lamps. He reached into his pocket for his keys, and selected the rusted skeleton key; though the buildings were over one hundred years old, Dr. Crane always refused to allow the lock of his office to be replaced. He slipped into his office shutting the door quickly behind him, and pulled the chain on his desk lamp. The office was also dimly lit and had the same cherry oak paneling found throughout the entire floor; yet at Crane's request the carpet was removed leaving a bare slate floor. After a quick survey of the room to make sure everything was still as he had left it, he picked up his glasses from the desk and put them on. The silver frames and rectangle lenses accentuated his high cheekbones and frame-like jaw line, yet simply magnified his cold, unnerving, ice blue gaze. He moved towards the mahogany fireplace along the wall of bookcases and stared at the portrait above the mantle. It was Van Gogh's "Wheatfield with Crows", one of his favorites. Dr. Crane pulled on the bottom corner and the portrait swung forward revealing a small safe. He shook the jet black hair from his eyes as he focused on the combination; it clicked and he opened the door hastily. Inside there were a number of newspaper clippings, test tubes and vials filled with various dark colored liquids, and a grey metal briefcase. Dr. Crane removed the briefcase, selected one of the dark green vials, and one of the orange, closed the safe and concealed it again with the painting. Slipping the vials into his shirt cuff, he then moved to the filing cabinet behind his desk and opened the third drawer; Q-V was engraved on the silver title plate. His fingers skimmed the manila folders until he reached T. He then removed the file he needed, shut the cabinet drawer and placed the file in the briefcase. Crane examined the room once more before he shut the light and locked the door promptly behind him.

He returned to the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the second floor. He stood wearing the same cold stare while he gripped the briefcase handle, as if someone would be waiting to rip it from his hands as soon as the doors opened. Yet his expectation was not met, and he swiftly started off down the hallway. There weren't many people in the Intensive Treatment wing, except for a group of nurses standing around for what looked like a nice little chat on the job. He stared at the ground, his reflection on the white linoleum floor staring back at him, to avoid their notice as he passed. Yet he couldn't avoid hearing the stout older nurse sobbing

"…she was so young, so talented! I knew she should have been transferred after the first incident. To die like that, oh poor Sarah!"

The news of his colleague's death evoked no emotion in him, but it did set him at ease to know that most of the staff was preoccupied. He made a right, coming to a dingy, deserted corridor and losing no momentum as he searched for the patient's room. Each door had a tint of orange and red somewhere on it, dried blood; most likely from patients being returned to their cells after a confrontation or medical procedure. He felt a bit nostalgic as he noticed this decor. Most of the tiles were chipped and filthy, adding a green tinge to the once white walls. Finally he came to room 229. He paused in front of the steel door, both hands still on his briefcase, and peered through the tiny observation window to assure his subject was conscious. Surely enough he lay on the thin mattress on the small iron bed frame in the right corner of the room, twiddling his thumbs and humming to himself. Crane then took his keys from his pocket and once again selected the rusted skeleton key; the key that gained him access to all of his favorite places on the Island, a key he had made himself over 15 years ago. The door creaked as he pushed it open, startling the man and causing him to jump to his feet.

"Why are you here? I don't have to go for another week! They promised! They swore to me I didn't have to go!" he cried pleadingly as he backed away from the doctor.

"Sit down Mr. Tetch, you're not going anywhere." Crane said sternly, dragging a chair to the bedside and placing his briefcase at the foot of the bed. The man stood there blinking with a look of uncertainty, watching Dr. Crane's movement. A minute passed and Crane grew impatient; raising his eyebrows and clenching his jaw, he motioned Tetch to sit. The man slowly lowered himself to a sitting position on the very edge of the mattress, and avoided the doctor's gaze. His face glistened with sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and it was as if his brow was permanently furrowed in an expression of worry. The long hair sticking to his face was matted and dirty, save for the bald spot on the very top.

Dr. Crane opened his briefcase to retrieve the file, slamming it shut quickly as he noticed Tetch's head turn in curiosity. His posture was stiff yet natural, as he took a minute to read through the papers in the folder on his lap.

"And how are we feeling today Jervis? It says here that you suffered a cerebral contusion last week after your head went through a glass window. How did this happen?"

The man looked at the doctor with utter confusion. The right corner of Dr. Crane's mouth formed into a sadistic smirk as he reworded his trivial question; his motive here was not to work on the problems of Mr. Tetch, but he had to gain his trust for the moment. He leaned forward a little, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, "How did you get that bump on your head Jervis?"

Jervis snapped his head back to look down at his twiddling thumbs. He swallowed hard and let out a whimper as he began to speak, his voice was high and shaking as he said "I don't know, I don't know what happened! They a-attacked me, all of them! Mongrels!"

"Now, now Jervis" he said as if he were speaking to a child of five "You do know why they did it. Were you not instigating them?" Crane questioned, though he had no true interest.

He sat back in his seat and listened to the bumbling fool explain."I-I was just t-t-rying to tell them that Alice would be coming soon and she isn't going to like how they've been treating me! But they wouldn't listen. They never listen!" he spat. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

Crane smirked once again as he replied "Well Jervis, today I need to ask you a few questions about the events that lead to your institutionalization."

There was a moment of complete silence once the question left Crane's mouth. Jervis said nothing, and showed no signs that he was about to. Dr. Crane cleared his throat in irritation and proceeded to question him; he was not concerned about gaining others' permission.

"Three nights ago on the night that you kil—"

"I DIDN'T KILL HER! I didn't kill anyone!" Jervis screamed as he jumped to his feet once again.

Crane enjoyed the reaction to his unintentional stimulus, yet urged him to regain his composure "Please sit Mr. Tetch, you must trust that I'm here only to ask a few questions and that's all."

Tetch sat, but was more cautious than ever of the inquiring doctor. "The night you were _arrested_ you were found with a considerable amount of hallucinogens, is that correct?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! Alice would never allow it. Nope, nothing but tea and crumpets at my tea parties." Jervis answered with his chin in the air, obviously believing his answer would suffice.

"Yes, the old 'Mad Hatter' bit. I'm not here to play games Mr. Tetch, and I'm certainly not interested in your delusional obsessions and denial. I know you were found with hallucinogens that night, LSD to be precise, and I know you had quite a bit of it. What I need you to tell me is where you acquired those drugs Jervis." He said sternly, staring at Tetch with intensity in his cold gaze.

The man giggled and gave an eerie smile as he said, "It was the rabbit, not me; surely you can see..."

Dr. Crane grew bored with this time wasting effort; he sighed as he opened his briefcase. He then casually slid the vial from his sleeve, pulled out the stopper, and poured the thick green liquid into a small container that was part of the black velvet interior of the briefcase. He then returned his gaze to the pathetic man sitting before him as he calmly asked, "Have you ever considered using psychotropic hallucinogens, Mr. Tetch?"

As he spoke he removed a piece of burlap from the briefcase. It was old and worn; it had two holes and what looked like a filtering mouth piece on the inside, but only stitches on the outside. Jervis shook his head.

"It's really quite remarkable how quickly they take effect when one inhales just a microscopic dose." Crane slowly removed his glasses and slid them into his breast pocket as he continued " It courses through the bloodstream first before it enters the temporal and parietal lobes in the cerebral cortex" He spoke fluently, assuring he had eye contact with Tetch, he went on. "The thing is, it's quite difficult to find the materials to make such a chemical; especially with with a certain GCPD Lieutenant and delusional vigilante snooping around" He paused momentarily to scoff at the thought of the self righteous men with badges that were allowed to legally play off of the fear of the impetuous, and the lunatic he so longed to dissect. He on the other hand had no laws to limit his methods.

Jervis sat with the same bewildered look as Crane leaned closer, his voice low and cool as he asked, "Would you like to see how it works?"

Yet before Jervis could answer, Dr. Crane put the burlap mask on, and pulled the trigger in the compartment of his briefcase. In an instant there was a loud hissing noise as a thick white smoke filled the air. Jervis' eyes widened and he began to cough as he breathed in the gas. He frantically rubbed his eyes, and upon looking up at Cranes mask, he threw himself to the floor and covered his face as he let out a painful scream.

"NO! Get the hell away from me! WHAT ARE YOU? What's happening to your face? Wha-"

He dragged himself along the floor in attempts to get away, but there was nowhere to go.

"Who gave them to you Jervis? Who were you working for?" His voice was now menacing as he followed the scrambling Tetch across the room.

Yet instead of answering, the man's attention was now focused in the opposite direction. He let out a blood curdling scream as he crawled to the corner and sobbed "What have you done to her? What happened to my Alice?"

He lie there clawing at the white linoleum. Crane stepped forward so that he towered directly over Tetch. The being before him was no longer a man, but a body with a mind like a malleable piece of clay. He embraced the excitement as he watched the desperation, the adrenaline pumped through his veins; his voice was loud and cruel as he said

"It was you Jervis, you _killed_ her. You tortured her in a cellar for months and fed her drugs until she was nothing but a shell. Then you dissected her lifeless body and decorated the walls with her organs."

Jervis yowled and curled into the fetal position. Crane knew he was reliving that night, he knew he was breaking. He grabbed the writhing man by the collar and lifted him from the floor. He wanted to look into his eyes, he wanted to see the _fear_ in action; and he wanted Jervis to see the face of the mask as the fear consumed him.

"I'm only going to ask you once more Jervis," he shook Tetch and screamed, "WHO GAVE THEM TO YOU?"

With this Jervis whimpered and struggled to breathe, yet as Crane shook him again he gasped "I-i-it was, it was… _Joker." _ His eyes wide and tearful, he pleaded "Don't tell him, I beg of you!"

Crane released the man and he fell to the floor with a thud. He pulled off the mask and placed it back into the briefcase, Jervis now convulsing in the corner, mumbling something repeatedly to himself. Crane put on his glasses and closed the briefcase. He then straightened the wrinkles from his black suit, tightened the knot of his burgundy tie and brushed his hair back into place as he calmly headed for the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harley felt like she was floating as she and the rest of her group were ushered through the facility, everything seemed to be a blur. She couldn't take a step without someone rushing past her, pushing her aside or stepping on her foot, yet she was so numb that none of it mattered. They came to a small office with white brick walls and a single desk. Harley dazedly stepped into the room and stood frozen by the door as the short brunette doctor slammed it and slid the three heavy bolt locks shut. The doctor spun around and Harley could see the sweat glistening on her fear stricken face as her eyes darted towards the desk. As the woman dashed for the desk Harley caught a glimpse of the shining silver name badge pinned above her left breast that read "Dr. Penny Young". Dr. Young seized the black rotary phone from the desk, almost knocking it to the floor in her haste, and began to dial furiously. For Harley, time moved slowly and she felt oddly detached from the scene; an observer standing in the shadows. She surveyed the group that cowered in the corner of the office; some sobbed violently while others merely stood with their hands clenched over their mouths, tears swelling in their eyes. Yet Harley remained separated from the rest, swaying slightly now as she stood. Her face was stoic yet her eyes had a dreamy glaze over them. Inside, her heart pounded against her sternum threatening to break through and the adrenaline pulsed through her veins like lightening. Her mind was racing and she could not grasp a single identifiable thought.

Amidst the distant panic Harley noticed Dr. Young as she spit into the phone, "You were supposed to have this under control god damn it! You're supposed to be overseeing things yourself now since the last fiasco, aren't you Sharp?" Her fury now overpowered her fear, "I don't want to hear that you fell asleep, whether you meant to or not! If you don't want me to go to the papers or the Board about your latest failures I suggest you get down here quickly and help me straighten this mess up before someone else gets killed!"

She slammed the receiver down and put the phone back on the desk. She then turned to the group and quickly said "You'll all need to remain in this office until you hear the alarm go off, we're not going to take any chances." Before anyone could object, Dr. Young had the door unlocked and was running down the hallway. As a nervous intern ran to close the door behind her, Harley wandered past him and out into the hall, still in a daze.

"Hey! Didn't you hear…" but the boy's cry trailed off as Harley turned the corner.

No one seemed to notice the disheveled blonde drifting down the hallway, and the blonde didn't seem to notice where she was going. The alarm was still blaring, muffling the screams as swarms of white coats ran past her every few seconds. Images were flashing through Harley's mind, yet the only one that lingered was the sight of Sarah lying on the floor; her eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling, her neck and head bent backwards at an unnatural angle, and the river of beautiful ruby red that flowed from her throat and seeped slowly through the floor grates. The more she thought of it, the faster her heart pumped, and the more anxious she became. Suddenly, she was gasping for air. Now aware of her surroundings, she began to search the hall frantically. As she saw the sign for the bathroom, she broke into a sprint and lunged for the door, throwing herself inside and locking it tight behind her. She stood there in the darkness for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath and to become completely silent so that she could try to gather her scrambled thoughts. The pressure in her head nearly brought her to her knees, causing her lean on the wall for support. Upon doing this her fingers grazed the light switch. As she flipped the switch, the room was flooded with a bright fluorescent light that felt like jabs to each of Harley's eyes. She staggered again, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. But when she lifted her head she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror; she almost didn't recognize herself. Reluctantly, she stepped forward to get a closer look. The eyes that stared back at her were not the same as the ones she had stared at for the past twenty five years; there was something alive in them, something malicious, something dormant that had been awakened. They were cold and unapologetic. The hair that had strayed from her bun was glued to the side of her face; not with sweat, but with the blood of Dr. Cassidy. Harley had not even felt the warm liquid hit her face when Dr. Cassidy was murdered. She hesitated, staring once more into the strange new gaze, and then she raised her right hand to her cheek and took some of the blood between her fingers. She rubbed it between her thumb and middle finger, staring down at the beautiful red that painted them. Yet that paint was part of another human being, an essential part to keeping them alive; but it was so beautiful, so much more beautiful outside of the body than the entire body itself! When she looked back at the mirror, there was a smile on her face. For the first time in what felt like hours there was no hesitation as her fist shattered the glass. She leaned over the rusty broken sink, turned on the faucet and stuck her head under the cold water.

"Pull it together Harls! Ya didn't come this far for nothin'!" She ordered herself, comforted by the fact that the voice in her head was still recognizable.

After a few deep breaths and a thorough face washing, she readjusted her hair and glasses, and then proceeded to bandage her now bleeding hand with a paper towel. The alarm had stopped, and she knew that someone would surely be wondering where she ran off to soon. When she stepped back out into the hall, it was like she had never seen it before. How did she even get here? How far had she wandered? She made a quick right, moving quickly and trying to avoid any people; the last thing she needed was someone asking her if she was "okay". Yet with every corner she turned a small sense of anxiousness rose in her. She looked around desperately for something recognizable, some sense of direction, but the further she walked the dingier and darker the corridors became. This one felt as if it were completely deserted. There were a dozen doors on each side; almost all of them stained with what she could only guess was old blood. She put her back to the mildew covered, once white brick wall, and cradled her head in her hands.

"Geez, maybe you are as stupid as everyone tells ya. Can't even find your way back to a room! Oh man Harley, why did you even bother tryin' to make somethin' of yourself, you're hopeless…" She berated herself mercilessly and she felt the tears coming, but she didn't have any strength to fight them.

Yet as the first tears rolled down her pale cheeks, a faint echo reached her eardrums, causing her to forget her self-pity. She quickly raised her head and looked from right to left, afraid someone was there to witness this pathetic sight; yet the hallway was still deserted. She held her breath, trying to listen over the sound of her vicious heart beat for the source of the sound. This time, the echo carried a scream through the hall. It was sharp and high-pitched, and made Harley jump backwards into the wall. She quickly regained her composure and looked to the left where the scream had come from. Slowly, she began to walk down the hallway, and after passing several of the doors she could hear the sound clearly; it was coming from room 229. It sounded like the whimper of an injured dog or an abandoned toddler, helpless, scared desperate, and hurting. As she inched closer and peered through the observation window of the door, she saw a chubby, ragged looking man writhing in the corner. His whimpers were followed by vicious whispers to himself as he began to claw at the floor, only to be followed by a scream of distress that was full of agony. She stood there in awe, unable to tear her gaze away from this display of panic. The man was frantic, afraid and smashing his head against the wall of the small room he was confined to. Harley felt it as the smile crept on her face this time, but she didn't fight it; she didn't care to.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sound of the rippling water against the rocks that bordered the island and the smell petrichor filled the air as Dr. Crane, lost in thought, made his way across the west field. As usual, his assumptions proved to be true; the clown had made a mess with his meddling impulses and had been playing with things that did not belong to him. That shipment of lysergic acid diethylamide was supposed to be discretely delivered to the southern loading docks in the Industrial District that Friday so that it could be prepared the following week. Yet the shipment was suspiciously intercepted. On Saturday night Crane had seen the news report that the medical delivery truck was found sprayed with bullets fifteen miles from the bridge; all of its cargo was gone and all seven of Crane's men were dead from excessive bullet wounds. The situation did not require much analysis due to the smiling face that was drawn onto the side of the truck with bullets; he always did have a flare for garish trademarks. Yet Crane still couldn't be positive. Then it just so happened that Mr. Tetch was shipped off to Arkham after his arrest, free for interrogation during which he only validated the doctor's assumptions. The only question that remained was why did Joker want the drugs, or rather, why was he giving them away?

The chain of evidence ran through Crane's mind as he reached the giant mechanical door to the penitentiary. The perimeter of the building consisted of the shells of oak trees that swayed underneath the darkening grey sky, beyond which tall barbed wire fences could be seen. Dark green ivy strangled the masonry and the grass was a foot too tall, giving the area the feeling of a ghost town. Yet this was the most heavily guarded building on the entire island; and rightfully so. The only inhabitants inside the cold, thick stone walls were the vilest and most malignant criminals Gotham City had to offer. These were prisoners, not patients. They had lost all touch with reality; there was no motive to their crimes other than morbid fascinations and indulgences. Yet not all were there because of their criminally violent nature. In fact, some were merely unfortunate enough to be deemed incurable and became test subjects for some of the most credible and vital confidential experiments in the history of Arkham (many of which were proudly conducted by Dr. Crane himself). Most of these subjects were later lobotomized upon outliving their usefulness, and were locked in the prison to rot, forgotten. It was Crane's personal belief that anyone with basic body and cognitive functions still served as useful subjects; but today was not about that, today there was only one purpose for his visit. As the hefty guards scanned his badge and patted him down, Crane held tight to the vial in his cuff and the briefcase in his right hand. Once he was able to pass the steel threshold, Dr. Crane casually made his way to the right corner of the small, windowless lobby where there was a row of payphones. He picked up one of the phones, examining his surroundings through his peripherals to be certain he would not be overheard.

After four rings a gruff and angry voice answered "What?"

Crane's expression was stoic and he waited a moment before he said calmly, "Is that any way to greet an employer Boles?"

There was another short pause on the line before the man replied "Oh, it's you."

"A simple 'Good afternoon' would suffice." He said, amused, as he moved quickly to the point, "I need you to take one of the boats to the south side of the penitentiary in precisely twenty minutes."

"Why? What's going on?"Boles questioned.

"Curiosity killed the agitating security guard, Frank. All you need to worry about is getting someone to Park Row for me; do you think you can handle that?" The condescension was more than obvious in his tone.

"Yea, sure. But my money better be waiting for me when I get back. Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't any normal shit you're up to." Boles was irritated, but unwilling to bite the hand that fed him so well.

"That's a good man. Twenty minutes. And it would be a wise decision to keep that mouth of yours under control during your trip, wouldn't want to say anything to provoke the man. Understand?"

"Yea, yea…" Boles spat in frustration, adding "...and it's Head of Security!" before he was cut off by Crane's slamming of the reciever. He was an ignorant man, Boles, but so desperate and greedy that he was one of Crane's most reliable henchmen. Dr. Crane removed the skeleton key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock of the iron barred doors. He rode the elevator to the main cell block on the second floor. When the giant steel doors slid open he was greeted by three security guards patrolling the entrance and the sounds of yowls and grunts from dozens of filthy and overcrowded cells before him. The walls were littered with security cameras that seemed to follow every movement; luckily the head of security was preoccupied and unable to attend the monitors. While he strolled down the center aisle several inmates threw themselves onto the bars, staring through yellowing, deranged eyes, spitting and cursing at the polished doctor. Many were badly bruised and scarred, pacing their cages like animals or lying in the fetal position on the stained floor, lost in the abyss of their severed minds. Crane undauntedly strode past the cells with the same sly smile from the early morning and entered a well-lit and narrow corridor leading to a door of iron bars in front of which were two guards. They did not question him, but merely nodded and opened the door. He entered a small isolation wing, much like the one in the Medical Facility but in shabbier condition.

He moved slowly as he searched the wing, finally stopping at the last door when he said firmly, "It's time to wake up, Victor."

The emaciated man became distinguishable from the shadows of the tiny, single person prison cell. He pressed his blood spattered face to the bars of the observation window, his eyes lit up, staring into the unwavering gaze of the doctor as he said with a chilling tone to his voice, "_You…you said you'd call off the goons and get me out of here!" _

The stench of his breath permeated Crane's nostrils as he continued "I gave you the damn broker's number and you said you'd get me out! They almost broke my ribs! And now look at where I am!"

Crane quirked his eyebrow and took a deep breath before scolding the blood-thirsty imbecile. "See Victor, if you had followed my instructions that would not have been the outcome. Yet instead of killing the guard, taking his pass-card and making your getaway, what did you do?"

Zsasz's scowl twitched and he stuttered as he tried to explain, "But she…she was…I COULDN'T LET HER GET AWAY AGAIN! Don't you understand?" he was now desperate, sweating profusely and clutching to the bars with both of his scabbed, calloused hands, "I was taking what was mine! She owed it to me for far too long. I was…I was fulfilling my _duty…" _

Before Zsasz could get too lost in the memories of his quest for redemption Crane interrupted, "Oh I understand perfectly, Mr. Zsasz. Yet you need to understand that I carried out my end of the deal efficiently; I approved the vacation requests of the guards, and I saw to it that the warden took a nice little nap in his office after his _special_ cup of morning coffee. All you had to do was get rid of the one, measly guard and head for the front doors. But because you couldn't control your impulse, even for your own benefit, you _failed._" He leaned forward as he emphasized the last word, his gaze turning to a heated glare.

The man slouched where he stood, desperation washed over his face as he began to bang his head against the door. Though it was a shame he couldn't let this continue, Crane retrieved the key from his pocket again while he said

"Fortunately for you, I need a favor. In exchange, I'll get you off of the Island." Victor returned his stare to Dr. Crane, a glint of hope amongst the menace in his eyes.

"What? What is it?" he pleaded.

"It's quite simple," Crane spoke slowly, slipping the key into the lock while he instructed "All you need to do is make two phone calls. If my records are correct that should be an amusing little game for you, yes?" He questioned; firmly holding eye contact, his voice hypnotic and calming as he spoke in order to gain the man's cooperation. Zsasz nodded.

"First, you get in touch with Joker, I don't care how you do it. Don't give out your name; just inform him that Penguin has extended a VIP invitation to his club for tomorrow evening to discuss a truce and a business proposition." Crane paused, allowing Victor to nod again which acknowledged his comprehension. He knew full well of the long standing feud between the Clown Prince of Crime and the Bird, all stemming from a petty clash of egos and tempers in the Iceberg Lounge over a decade ago. "Then you need to give the Batman a ring." The mesmerizing tone broke and became stern at the mention of the self-righteous vigilante, and Crane almost lost his focus.

"He'll know who you are of course, the great detective that he is; just tell him that if he isn't at the Iceberg Lounge by 6pm innocent people _will_ die. You know how to sell it, and he won't be able to resist."

The faint smirk returned to his face though his voice was severe.

"Keep it short; we don't want him tracking you instead of taking the bait. Fail to accomplish this and I'll track you down myself and make you a lab rat for my own experiments. Do we have an agreement?"

Zsasz nodded once more and the Doctor turned the key, checked his surroundings, and led him down the nearest staircase and to the emergency south exit . Crane knew from his previous observations of all three individuals what the most predictable scenario would be; upon the Joker's arrival at Iceberg Lounge, Oswald Cobblepot will have his thugs at the ready to barricade the clown out. Confusion will arise due to the expectation of an armistice, and will most likely drive him into a fit of rage, causing him to put on a display of irrationality. Shortly after, the Bat will arrive. Once he catches on to the fact the Zsasz threat is a hoax, he will be eager and able as always to apprehend Joker and will haul him into the Asylum, where he will be placed into the care of Dr. Jonathan Crane. He barely had the door open before Victor started sprinting forward towards the water. Boles stood at the wheel of a small security boat; his face sunk at the sight of the lunatic covered in blood and tally mark scars climbing onto the deck, and he shook his head at Crane before they drove away. The only thing left to do now was wait, and to prepare for the events the following night would bring. At a leisurely pace, he set off for the Medical Facility to relieve the Hatter with an antidote (in case he was needed the next day) stopping at the security building to leave Frank's payment. The veil of nightfall was lowering over the Narrows, and Crane felt reassured that they would reach their destination unscathed. When he entered the facility he headed directly for the second floor, eager to see the progress his compound had made on Tetch's psyche. Yet when he reached the derelict corridor he froze, his adrenaline surging when he saw someone standing in front of The Hatter's door. He swallowed the rising irritation and slowly crept towards the room, keeping as silent as possible. His focus sharpened and he could see that it was the clumsy blonde intern from earlier that morning. Irritation escalated to fury with each step he took towards the intrusive slag. He had more than grown tired of the insipid drones of this supposed work place asking questions and hindering his experiments. Yet, when he was less than five feet from the girl, the wave of anger subsided as he recognized something familiar in her bright blue eyes that he had never seen come from someone else witnessing such a spectacle. Within her gaze was a sense of pure fascination and _appreciation._ He began to notice the subtle pink lips curved into a harsh smile upon her porcelain face. He couldn't comprehend the stirring that was happening in the pit of his stomach nor the sudden blurring of his thoughts. He exercised no restrain as his eyes studied her enticing hourglass figure and proceeded to linger on the skirt that fell at the beginning of her thighs.

His voice threatened to fail him, but he managed compose himself. "May I help you?"


	6. Chapter 6

He stood there awkwardly; fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve and staring over her shoulder rather than making eye contact. Harley hadn't heard him walking down the hallway and was shaken by his sudden presence, rendering her speechless for what felt like minutes. While she waited for the ability to speak to return to her she took a good look at him; she could not help but stare at the lanky form that looked quite solid under his suit, and the pale skin that looked like a thin cloth laid over a sharp cornered frame. As she came to admire his striking eyes she realized they were now meeting hers, and they looked angry.

Before she could scrounge for an answer he demanded, "Lost are we? What are you doing here?"

Harley quickly remembered her original impression of how rude he was, and crossed both of her arms across her stomach as she snapped, "I ain't lost!"

Immediately aware of how defensive she sounded she took a moment to adjust her tone. Shaking her head in disbelief she commented, "Sheesh! Ya really ain't got any manners at all, do ya?"

She noticed his posture tense and teeth clench, and though her question was rhetorical, he replied, "I have no time for them. And please do not speak like that; it's very uncouth."

Her mouth fell open and she scoffed at the casual insult. Once again he seemed to ignore her; he spoke slowly as if he were speaking to a child as he added "And I am most certain you are lost due to the fact that this is a secure ward that is off-limits, to interns especially." There was silence again; Dr. Crane seemed to be attempting to burn a hole through Harley with his glare. She could feel his anger, but this time it was met by some of her own.

"Listen, I'm no moron, and I'm not tryin' to do anything funny here. I just needed to take a walk, is that against the rules?" She snapped again.

Crane raised his eyebrows in what could be perceived as attentiveness, giving her the impression that her attempt at intimidation was working. She placed both of her hands on her hips as she continued, "If it is, no one told me! So I sure would appreciate it if you would just back off! And anyway, since you're a psychiatrist and all that you really should be a little nicer to people, instead of makin' 'em feel like garbage, don't ya think?" Fully expecting the doctor to make another jab she quickly added, "And ya could at least say sorry for almost knockin' me over this morning."

She held her chin high with an air of accomplishment for sticking up for herself and felt prepared for his next insult. Her satisfaction soon turned confusion when the insult didn't come. Instead, Crane retaliated with a smile that Harley could not understand. Harley always found a smile or a laugh to be contagious, but not this one. She began to feel uncomfortable; unsure if it was an expression of disgust, amusement, sarcasm or pity. Her arms cautiously fell to her side.

"Well?" She questioned anxiously, unable to bare the awkward feeling.

She stared pleadingly, urging him to speak; yet instead, she noticed that his eyes were travelling downwards toward her chest. His expression softened (putting Harley at ease) as he returned his gaze to hers and said, "Well Ms. Quinzel, perhaps you're correct; allow me to apologize for my insolence earlier. Sometimes the mind becomes too crowded for one to notice their surroundings, especially in moments of frustration. I'm sure you can agree?"

Distracted by his odd charm and feeling slightly embarrassed for her rash reaction, she simply nodded in agreement. "Though I would like to make one suggestion, if I may?" She gave another nod.

"Being an intern, you have many superiors. It would be wise to not make too many arguments, or do too much snooping around. You see, others might not be as _understanding_ as I am." Harley didn't know what to think; he looked uncomfortable in his attempt at consolation, and Harley didn't quite trust him. Yet despite his illusive tone and tense stature the notion of him swallowing his pride, even if it was for an empty apology, swayed her opinion.

"I wasn't arguin' really" she protested meekly out of habit.

The unnatural smile had now vanished from Crane's face as he waited for her to continue, "I was just lookin' for a place to think, ya know, to clear my head."She was no longer able to look him in the eyes, though she could see from the corners that the doctor remained expressionless.

"I see. And you just so happened to wander aimlessly into a secluded and restricted wing?" he spoke sternly again.

Harley tried to argue, yet her voice died in her throat leaving her with a dumbfounded expression. The nagging feeling of vulnerability began to seep in, causing her heart to threaten another violent escape. "I'm to understand you also just so happened to stumble upon the cell that contains a patient who is currently in a state of crisis?" He spoke fluently, all the while remaining completely stoic.

The intensity radiating from him caused Harley to stagger where she stood. The day's events had truly begun to take their toll and she could feel the energy draining from her like the blood drained from Dr. Cassidy. Somehow she knew that none of her answers would be sufficient for the inquiring doctor. Using her right shoulder to support herself against the filth stained walls she replied with all the emphasis she could muster "If I'm gonna get canned for this can you just spit it out already? I already told you it was an accident. It's my first day and it hasn't exactly been a smooth one."

She was gasping for breath. Expecting him to rip the badge from her blouse and to tell her to leave, she again stood there mute, attempting to come to terms with such a devastating embarrassment. She felt that her shoulders were slouched, making her look quite pathetic, but she was no longer concerned. Yet just when she felt the tears swelling in her eyes again, Dr. Crane, squinting slightly as though he were trying to process a thought, nodded. He then turned his attention to the man in the room, his stony expression unbreakable as he spoke, "So Ms. Quinzel, would you mind enlightening me with your observation of Mr. Tetch?"

"Who?" Harley asked, completely clueless. At that moment Crane's head snapped around to face her, his eyes were now piercing hers. The cold, menacing look within them caused her hands to shake, her heart was racing, she felt as though she were paralyzed.

"Are you testing me? Mr. Tetch, the man whom you have been watching this entire time, whose door we have been standing in front of. What has he been doing?"

She drew a sharp breath and turned her own attention to the man who was curled in the fetal position in the far corner of the room. "Oh yeah-him, heh-heh."

She chuckled to subdue her nerves, yet when Crane raised his brow, clearly not amused, she quickly continued, "Well, he's mostly been over in that corner. He's been screamin' like there's someone in there with him, sayin' somethin' about crows and scratchin' at his face. Look at that! He's got blood all over him! What's his problem?"

She was genuinely curious, and shocked at the man's behavior. Though Harley had not exactly had a fairytale kind of life, she had never witnessed anyone behave like that; and it was fascinating.

"Ah, well that's not really something you need to worry yourself with." Crane condescended, which filled Harley with a sudden shot of adrenaline as she snapped, "Don't ya think since I'm gonna be working here that I should know this kinda stuff?"

His chest rose and he let out a sigh as he said, "Mr. Tetch suffers from extreme hallucinations. He has also made it his hobby to inflict those hallucinations on young women and later…" Harley noticed Crane was examining her again, "creating various-art projects shall we say? -With their remains. He acts under the alter ego 'Mad Hatter'-"

"Hey! I know what that's from, 'Alice in Wonderland' right?" Harley interjected enthusiastically, only to sink back into her defensive stance at the sight of Crane's glare.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle of his briefcase, then he continued reluctantly, "Some have diagnosed him as manic depressive, an extremely lazy analysis. I however, believe he suffers from a dissociative disorder as well as a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, from his childhood of course, quite possibly schizoid as well; only tests and time will tell." The last words trailed off and he seemed to be lost in another crucial thought. He turned slowly back to Harley and said, "In any case, his hallucinations are strictly a result of his illness. He's beyond our help really- but it is our responsibility, _of course_, to continue our attempts at finding an effective treatment. That being said, it is pertinent that he receives this injection immediately." He slipped a vial that contained an orange liquid out from his sleeve. Then he tilted his head ever so slightly and said, with an unexpectedly soothing tone, "I think its best you take the rest of the day and go home; I'm sure you need some rest, or a good drink perhaps?" The stiff smile came onto his face again as placed his hand at the middle of her back and guided her in the right direction.

"Ya know, I really could use a whole lot of both. Thanks doctor."

Crane bowed his head and lowered his hand, placing it on the handle of Mr. Tetch's room. Harley began to think she had misjudged him; maybe he did have a sense of humor after all. As she headed for the elevator, she turned back to see if Dr. Crane was still in sight; there was a flutter in her chest when she saw him staring after her. She whipped her head around quickly, her ponytail hitting her in the eye, and she felt the oh-so-familiar heat filling her cheeks. She shook her head trying to shake her giddy feeling; all she wanted was to go home and take a nice and long, hot bath.

"Oh, and Ms. Quinzel," Her heart leaped again as Crane's voice echoed in the empty corridor, causing her to face him immediately "It would be wise to keep the information I just gave you between us, understand?"

She paused for a moment, and then yelled back "Sure thing!" before turning towards the elevator again.

Harley knew she would not have spoken with anyone about their conversation because she had a feeling that it must have been an unnatural occurrence for him to share his knowledge with someone. She couldn't help but ask herself the question; Why was he so paranoid? Harley called the elevator as she mulled the conversation over. The iron gate slid back and the wooden elevator doors parted, and she stepped inside. She pressed the button that would take her to the ground floor, and as the doors began to close she noticed Crane; he was still watching her. Harley felt a chill shoot up her spine, and she tried to subtly hold the "doors close" button. Yet through the final slit of visibility before the doors met she noticed Crane's calm expression melt away as he violently threw the door open and disappeared.


	7. Chapter 7

Standing like a ghost in the middle of the dingy white room, his thoughts were racing like an express train at full throttle. Tetch, unaware of another presence in the room, was still reeling in the corner from the dose of psychotropics that Crane had been so generous with earlier. Yet the two continued to ignore each other as Dr. Crane attempted to comprehend what was stirring inside him. For the first time he could recall in his life he was intrigued by another human being, and not for their symptoms and maladies. Allowing his mind to wander further, the racing fragments of thoughts came together building the image of her face; her innocent yet precocious smile revealed ever so reluctantly, the crystal eyes that spoke of hidden depth and interests, all illuminated by the angelic aura that hovered around her. He needed to get closer, he needed to know more. Yet for now, he filed her away in the back of his mind as his eyes fell on the "Mad Hatter". Jervis was curled in the same corner, now accompanied by a pool of his own blood. Crane focused on Tetch's words, still barely audible yet repeated adamantly; "Wake up….wake up! -No, no no no-I couldn't have!"

"How is she, Jervis?" Crane sneered, moving casually toward him.

At the sound of his voice, Tetch threw himself back against the white stone wall, covering his face and yowling emphatically, "GET AWAY FROM ME! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER, YOU HEAR ME? HELP! HEELLP!" The vibrations from his wailing were trapped within the four walls, bearing down on Crane's eardrums.

"Jervis plea—"Crane tried to subdue him, but the screams only grew louder and more consistent.

A fire ignited inside of him, and he felt the anger conquer his discipline as he acted to stifle the man's hideous cries, abandoning his calm demeanor as he bellowed, "ENOUGH!" The ominous command erased the echoes of Tetch's desperation, unable to defy it, he began to sob uncontrollably. It was an unknown occurrence to any of his acquaintances for anything to be beyond the _control_ of Jonathan Crane, including his emotions. Yet to avoid the rendezvous being interrupted, there was no other choice.

Just as Tetch began gasping for breath and tearing at the skin of his neck, producing an impressive amount of blood with his yellowed, decaying fingernails, Crane retrieved a long silver needle from his briefcase. Removing the remaining vial from his cuff, he abstracted the antidote and closed in on its recipient. Tetch began to scream once again, flailing his arms violently in an attempt to ward off his tormentor. Yet Crane's patience had long gone, and he forcibly took hold of Tetch's forearm, jamming the needle into the nearest vein. One yelp of pain followed by a shudder, then Jervis turned his red, puffy, mouse-like eyes to Crane's, looking as though he had come out of a long sleep. Tears streamed down his blood covered face, he gave a great sob before he meekly spoke, "Y-y-you're _horrible_."

Crane resumed his calm manner as he replied, "Everyone has their own perception of what 'horrible' truly is, Jervis, and we all manage to live up to it anyway, one way or another."

Tetch cradled his head in his hands, presumably getting ready for another round of pitiful howls. Yet he merely sobbed into his palms lifting his face only to ask, "Is h-he co-coming? Will you tell h-h-him it was me?"

"Well that's really my decision now, isn't it?" Crane replied. Eager to attend to more interesting business, he made for the door. However, after two steps, Tetch latched onto his ankle, pleading like a child having a temper tantrum. He instinctively raised his leg and slammed his heel down, grinding Tetch's hand to the floor; breaking several bones in the process. "Never touch me, you fool!" he commanded as he kicked Jervis' arm at the elbow. "You are by far the most insufferably pathetic man I've ever met." Yet this time his remarks were not met by more cries of agony, only pleads. "Wait! What if we made a deal?" he blurted out, getting to his feet and clutching his now broken arm. "What could you possibly have to offer me? Tips from Lewis Carroll?" Though he was thoroughly irritated by the man's notion, he found himself interested in the details.

Tetch raised both hands to his mouth, nervously peeling the skin from his lips. "First you have to promise, promise that you won't tell the Joker I gave you his name!" His watery eyes were desperate, and he couldn't stop fidgeting while he waited for an answer. Rather than giving him a solid answer, Crane gave an almost indistinguishable nod of agreement, waving his hand to urge Tetch to proceed.

Wiping his nose with the back of his uninjured hand and gingerly lowering himself onto the bed, he looked at Crane humbly and began, "The night I-I….became ill, and they brought me here, they confiscated more than the drugs…" Pausing with what Crane assumed to be an expectation of a bigger reaction (that never came); he continued reluctantly, "They also took one of my most prized possessions. On one of my first stays in this God forsaken place, years ago, I had the good fortune of being able to knick this fascinating blue print off one of the doctor's desks while he went to get that blasted electric head contraption…" he shuddered from the reminiscence, "I slipped it into my sock and managed to keep it safe until my release. The only thing was, I could never quite understand it, could never even begin to think of how to start. It was maddening! Sleepless night after sleepless night I sat, examining the design from every angle, neglecting all of the guests for my tea party in the process mind you, but alas…nothing! I took it everywhere with me for fear someone would steal it. But then on that horrible night the brutes found it inside of my hat and took it from me, locking it up along with me in this 'Asylum'"

It had indeed peaked Dr. Crane's interest, yet time was of the essence, and his next question came harshly, "You've told me nothing of any value, yet you expect a favor? Who was the doctor? What is it Tetch? Stop wasting my time, it's late."

"O-of course, of course. He wouldn't tell me his name, but what a nasty sight he was. Like I said, I couldn't exactly understand the fine details, but the print was labeled 'AA Mental Imaging Project F-029'" He stared anxiously at Crane, most likely hoping his information would suffice.

As soon as Tetch muttered the title of the Project, Crane's heart leapt and his focus was ripped away as he mulled over the new information. It was a concept he had always dreamed of bringing to fruition. He vividly imagined the possibilities of what a device like this could accomplish; to be able to use his compounds and physically see its effects like a live video, to be able to examine the inner workings of a mind on his favorite fear inducing toxins. He was sure that Jervis, no matter how long he had stared at it, would ever be able to comprehend such an advanced process. He knew where he could find it, all confiscated goods were kept in the same area, but it would have to wait until the morning.

"…absolutely maddening." Tetch muttered to himself, an incoherent and distant look in his eyes. Crane knew that the man's usefulness had run out for the night, as well as his attention span, therefore he headed for the door again after saying "Thank you Mr. Tetch, that will be all for tonight. I suggest a good night's sleep; you've had an extremely stressful day." He pulled the door open, shutting it behind him, but not before he heard Tetch's strangled cry of "Our deal, Crane!"

Making his way through the almost empty and dim Asylum to his office, he planned his itinerary for the following day. The very first priority would be retrieving the blueprint to begin _his_ new project, what would hopefully be the start of his greatest achievement to date. As he entered his office, locking the door behind him, he placed the briefcase back into the safe and hung his jacket on the back of his desk chair. He looked at the clock on his desk, it read 3:00 AM, and realizing just how exhausted the day had made him, he sunk into the brown leather armchair in the corner, removed his glasses, and closed his eyes. At ease with the day's accomplishments, he allowed his mind to wander; he thought of all the events the following day would produce, how years of research could potentially be rewarded in less than twenty four hours, and in the last hazy moment of consciousness, he saw her beautiful, glowing face. The image lingered in his mind, filling him with a comforting, warm sensation. He needed to know more, he needed to get closer…


End file.
